


Forget Me Not

by loveatthirdsight



Category: Gintama
Genre: Childhood Friends, F/M, Female Friendship, Post-Canon, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 23:14:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5762665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveatthirdsight/pseuds/loveatthirdsight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The next morning, he orders in a late breakfast for the two of them, and thinks he wouldn't mind living like this for the rest of his life, which involves burying his nose in her hair, his arm resting on top of her sides as they're lying next to each other in the sanctity of their room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forget Me Not

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saboten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saboten/gifts).



* * *

 

Being Sacchan's rival, there were a few things that Wakikaoru knew about her that she did not. Which explained exactly why she was shopping flowers with her boss and not Sacchan herself.

She didn't have much of an opinion on either of Zenzou's or Ayame's love life. Still, Zenzou seemed a little helpless. So did Ayame, but she thought that her delusion was more of a coping mechanism than anything at this stage.

"How about these?" she asked, pointing at a bouquet of roses.

"... I like these better," Zenzou said quietly, holding a small pot of forget-me-nots.

"Hmmm." Wakikaoru pursed her lips together, trying to remember the meaning of the flowers. It'd been a while since they'd been taught the meanings of herbs and flowers. As shinobi they knew all the herbs that could kill a man in seconds.

She picked up a nearby florist's card.

oOo

 **FORGET - ME - NOTS** : _a moderately tall, sprawling wildflower that measures approximately 15-60 cm. in height. The radially symmetrical flowers are powder-blue with bright yellow centers. They are arranged in rounded, divergent clusters along the length of the branch. The leaves are oblong, hairy, and often stalkless. True forget-me-not grows best in wet places including moist woodlands and stream sides._

 **MEANING** : _love, loyalty, painful desire/longing, readiness to make sacrifices_.

oOo

She pursed her lips even further.

"Zenzou, is there any point in this?" she asked gently.

"Well, her birthday is coming up," he explained, shrugging a bit. "These look nice, don't you think? They match her hair."

"She'd appreciate... er... other things more than flowers."

"Yes, she would completely and totally appreciate nipple clamps from me," he replied sarcastically. "Maybe you're right, though," he said, somewhat resigned. "I guess I'll just get her a nice card or something."

"No, hang on - " Wakikaoru interrupted, finally catching on to his intentions. "All girls appreciate flowers."

"You just said - "

"Hear me out. Isn't that samurai guy she's in love with kind of, you know - taken? She's been whining about it to me for last few years."

"More or less. What do you mean?"

She sighed. "We're shinobi. I'm saying you need to do a bit of _sabotage_."

Hattori looked a little insulted. "I'm not really here to take advantage of anyone. I just thought flowers would make a nice gift, that's all."

"Right," Wakikaoru said, unconvinced. "I still think the roses would make your case much stronger."

"Nah," he said and walked to the cashier.

 

* * *

 

Sacchan was lying face down in her mattress while her co-workers were off at the florists.

She could hear her late teacher preaching wisdom to her. _Life is pain, your highness. Anyone who says differently is selling you something_.

So really, why was she having such difficulty in processing this new fresh pain?

"I'm getting married," Tsukuyo had told her straightforwardly, but one could tell she was genuinely afraid of hurting Sacchan's feelings. "You don't have to come to the ceremony, but I thought you should know."

It was stupid. The entire thing was stupid. She was beautiful and good and kind - and Sacchan was dirty in comparison. Sacchan was creepy, she was loud, she was annoying. The type where men had fun with for a night but thought it inconceivable to spend the rest of their life with.

Still, no one could argue that she was an excellent actress, regardless of how her heart was shattered, and she stepped up to hug Tsukuyo.

"Congratulations," she said, her voice raspy, but revealing none of the momentary hatred she had for her friend. Tsukuyo was surprised, but hesitantly hugged her back.

"I thought you'd hate me," she whispered. "I've been waiting for you to kill me in my sleep, or something - "

"No," Sacchan said, stepping back. "I may be a stalker, but I'm not evil."

Now Tsukuyo was tearing up, and Sacchan was glad she couldn't look at her straight in the eye anymore. "I wish there were two Gintoki's," she said softly.

Sacchan smiled sadly. "Me too."  


* * *

 

He found her at the practice grounds, breathing hard as she threw kunai into the straw dummies. He could tell she was frustrated. Still, he put his hands into his pockets. "Haven't seen you for a while, Sarutobi."

She looked at him and threw a knife that landed bullseye in the middle of the target without looking back.

"Zenzou," she said curtly. "Thought you were on a mission."

"Came back early," he said shrugging. "Wanna spar?"

She hesitated. They hadn't practiced fighting ever since they graduated from the ninja academy and were preparing to leave the village. Sensing her trepidation, Hattori added, "No weapons. Just a good old training spar."

Finally, she nodded. "No weapons," she repeated.  


* * *

 

"I talked to Ayame," Tsukuyo said, in the midst of tying her hair up for her next shift. Gintoki looked bored as he perused the week's edition of Shonen Jump, picking his nose.

"And?"

"I told her she was welcome to come to our ceremony."

Now his attention was fixed. " _Why_?"

She glared at Gintoki. "Because she's a friend of ours."

 

* * *

 

Both of them were light on their feet, but Ayame had the better momentum. She was angry - and cool enough to use that emotion as an edge. He'd only started to go on the offensive until she dodged his arms and crouched, aiming for his legs before executing a perfect double takedown.

Zenzou groaned as he laid on the dirt. The sky was beginning to darken.

She stretched out her hand to help him back up. "Hey, you asked for it," she said unapologetically.

"Didn't think it'd be _that_ vicious," he admitted, but took her hand anyways. Stretching out his shoulders, he said, "All right. You ready for round two?"

 

* * *

 

"She's also a person who violates people's privacy," Gintoki pointed out.

"She's _my_ friend. At least _I_ don't run her over with a truck."

"You don't understand, she _likes_ that stuff!"

 

* * *

 

This time she was too angry to think straight. He blocked her punches with ease, dodging and choosing to not attack.

"What's - wrong - ?" he asked, in between parries, putting his two fists up in a defensive stance. "You're not yourself today," he added, once he was a couple of feet away from her.

For that, she attempted a side-thrust kick, which he dodged only in the nick of speed. "Gintoki's getting married soon," she said, her voice slightly out of breath.  


* * *

 

"I want ya to sincerely apologize to her," Tsukuyo said flatly. "You can't excuse yer behavior because she's an masochist. She's still a person that deserves respect."

Gintoki looked incredulous. "You're joking. What other woman would defend a friend who has eyes for her husband?"

At this, Tsukuyo bristled in fury. "Someone who TRUSTS both of them, ya dumbass!"  


* * *

 

They finally took a break once the sun had gone down. Zenzou sat in her small apartment, wiping his sweat off with her towel. Sacchan was rummaging in her fridge.

Her kitchen wasn't spotless and neither was her living room. There were empty beer cans strewn all over and he could see a few empty cups of ramen that showed signs of aging in her apartment. He made a note to tell her later, once she wasn't so upset over Gintoki. Unfazed, he spotted a pair of handcuffs lying innocently on her kitchen counter.

"Here," she said, handing him a frozen blue popsicle.

"Are you a kid?" he asked, amused, but took a bite out of it all the same. "It's almost dinner-time."

"It's _hot_ , and the AC's not working," she complained. "So shut it before I shove something up your ass."

She had changed into a T-shirt and shorts, fixing her hair up in a ponytail. "I can't believe you're in my house," she said, laughing a little. "Nobody's supposed to see my mess, much less my boss."

"I'm on break," he said. "So for now, we can stop being all professional around each other."

"Oh, good."

She was unwrapping her popsicle now, making an obscene amount of noise as she sucked down on her grape-flavored popsicle. He looked away pointedly.

"We should go drinking," she suggested. "I wanna go out for barbecue or something."

"I think you drink too much," he said politely.

"And _I_ think you need to loosen up."  


* * *

 

It wasn't Tsukuyo's style to slam doors. She had too much respect for his property to do that. But her opinion on the matter had been made exceedingly clear as she left his small apartment to serve her late shift.

Gintoki had been stunned before he rushed out the door a minute later. "Oi! Oi, Tsukuyo!"

 

* * *

 

"It's not like I didn't see it coming," Ayame grumbled as Zenzou helped her walk straight from the bar close to her apartment. "But I thought - eventually, just any moment now, she would see what he was really like... I thought that she wouldn't be able to live with someone who doesn't pay the rent, or pick his nose, or refuses to pay his employees... I thought she didn't know him like _I_ did."

"Mm-hmm."

Ayame leaned against a building. By now the stars were beginning to shine, as dim as they were beneath the light pollution of the Edo skyline. Retching, she seemed small and terribly sad even in the nighttime of the Kabuki-chou district.

He hunkered down and rubbed her back. "Oi, this is why I told you not to drink so much."

"Sheddep," she muttered, wiping her mouth with the pack of tissues she'd gotten for free from a host club. Her shoulders began to shake as she started to cry.

"Really, Zenzou, why am I the absolute worst?" she said, the tears rolling down her cheeks. "I should've been happy, y'know? But ... "

She hiccuped. "... I'm not. I'm the worst."

After she was finished blowing her nose, he led her to a bench so she could recover somewhat. The air in Edo had never been the best compared to the ninja village of both their childhoods, but in the Kabuki-chou it seemed especially foul.

"It's not a crime to be upset about your friend getting hitched the one you love," Zenzou said. "I mean, I'd be mad too."

"R-Really?"

"Yeah." Both him and her were dreamers in their own way. He rummaged in his pocket for some change and told her to wait as he walked over to the vending machine.

A minute later he handed her a hot can of ginger ale. "For upset stomachs," he explained.

"Thanks," she said, cracking it open.

A part of him wondered if he was being overly opportunistic right now. By all means, another girlfriend of hers should be the one who offered kind words, maybe a hug, and an invitation to buy ice cream while they watch bad soap operas, lamenting the stupidity of men who never really realize the value of women who love them. It feels wrong to be sitting next to her as she cries; it's something he's never liked, even when they argued as kids.

He can't in good conscience comfort her as a friend when there's a huge chunk of himself that wants to be more than friends with her. That's not fair to her.

"C'mon. You'd better get some sleep," he said, handing his hand out to hers. She stood up, her legs trembling.

"You'll feel better in the morning tomorrow if you finish all of that before you go to bed," he reminded her. Then with a bit of a grin: "I know from experience."  


* * *

 

He walked her dutifully to her apartment complex before saying, "Well, I'd better head off."

"Wait."

"Hm?"

"You don't want to go inside?" Ayame asked.

That made him pause. "Huh?"

"I said, you don't want to go inside?"

Now he smiled. "Thanks, but I gotta walk to my place now, and it's really late."

"But - "

"You've got a guest waiting," he said softly, gesturing to Gintoki, who'd been sitting for a while on her doorstep. "Seems like he's got something to say to you, don't you think?"  


* * *

 

"Tsukuyo gave me your address," Gintoki said, smiling that half grin that she knew very well and loved. "So now, I'm stalking you."

A part of her is angry that Tsukuyo is doing this. What, has she come to rub it in her face? Then the rational, decision making part of her brain kicks in, which is most unusual when she sees Gintoki.

"I can't apologize for falling in love with another woman," he said bluntly. "But I can apologize for what an ass I've been to you all these years."

"... It's okay." Ayame doesn't even _want_ to invite him in her place, which is the first time she's ever actually felt this way. Once upon a time, she'd concocted a crazy plan to kidnap Sadaharu so that she could lure Gintoki into her room. But now - all she feels is that she's tired. _Really_ tired. She's not even dressed in her best clothes and her mascara is smudged, so even the hope of sweeping him off his feet is no more than just a distant dream.

"No. I didn't treat you like any decent human being would. All right, so you stalked me - but then again, maybe I could have talked to you about that a bit more - "

"I still keep the glasses you bought me," she cut in. "And it's fine. I don't need a pity party. It's already bad enough that I have to see that bitch walking around town with you."

He catches her sarcasm - knows that she both means it and doesn't, at the same time - and smiles.

"Oi, Gintoki. If you hurt that woman, just know I'll be coming for you and I'll be spilling to her every dirty secret you have."

"Heh. Nice advice. I've got a piece for you too, you sicko. You shouldn't run over your pizza delivery boy either. He likes you."

"... Fine."  


* * *

 

In the morning, she swore she'd never drink again, her head throbbing as she walked to her fridge for something to cure her hangover. Zenzou was either a damn liar or he never had a real taste of drinking like she did last night.

And then as she was filling a glass of water from the tap, she noticed something on her kitchen window.

_Flowers? I don't think I bought any recently..._

Instantly her mind clicks. If it's a trap - and she doesn't smell poison, or a hear small detonator coming from nowhere - she's not one to be made a victim so easily. She cautiously steps away from the kitchen and tosses a small shuriken into the pot, fully expecting it to explode. It doesn't.

There's a card tucked below the terracotta pot, and she lifts it from underneath the flowers.

 _"Happy Birthday,_ " she says out loud, and smiles because she's completely forgotten about it until now.

There's no name attached, but she knows exactly who it comes from.  


* * *

 

"I liked the flowers," she said to Hattori as they were sitting on a bench overlooking the lake one Sunday evening. It'd been a week since Gintoki had visited. "Who told you to pick those out?"

"Wakikaoru."

"You're strangely romantic," she commented. "And a bit of a varmint, if I say so myself."

"What, like watching you pine after a scumbag like him isn't enough for a decent man to get angry over?"

She snorted. "Don't be like that, it doesn't suit you," she said reprovingly. Her voice dropped down to something seductive and husky. "You ought to punish me for making you wait all those years."

His Adam's apple is bobbing up and down as he swallows. Damn her for being a hedonistic bitch. Really, she's much too pretty for her own good. Too righteous, in the way that should irritate him more than most. And her voice can be loud and shrill. But he can't deny he holds a weak spot for her. He'd die for her, and that's one of the few truths he can live with for the rest of his life.

"How about we do this the fashionable way," she proposed. "We go out drinking again. But this time, we _really_ admit we have a thing together, and then we go to my favorite love hotel for some action. What do you say to that?"

Fuck, he's already hard. "Sounds like a plan."  


* * *

 

The next morning, he orders in a late breakfast for the two of them, and thinks he wouldn't mind living like this for the rest of his life, which involves burying his nose in her hair, his arm resting on top of her sides as they're lying next to each other in the sanctity of their room. She's still sleeping peacefully after their midnight shenanigans, but with no small satisfaction he makes note of the hickey bites he's left on her neck.

"Listen," he says in a low voice once she wakes up, sleepy but bright eyed, her hand automatically reaching for his. "This actually sounds crazy but hear me out. You should move into my place."

"Does that mean I'll have to pay rent?" she asked playfully.

"Nah. The mortgage's already paid off."

"Deal." It's almost like magic when he thinks about how quickly she's agreed to it.

Already this was turning out to be a very good situation for Ayame, who hummed pleasantly as she rose out of bed naked to pour herself a cup of hot tea. Really, who knew Zenzou was so good with his hands? Not to mention he actually _likes_ S/M play, more so than she expected. Guess all the practice with those fugly chicks in that run-down club was paying off.

"I don't want any kids," she warned.

"Okay."

"I'm not the most diligent with cleaning."

"I already knew that."

She helped herself to natto, chewing the beans slowly. "And I want a really big wedding someday, okay? Like a really Western one with a white dress and everything."

"As you wish."  


* * *

 

"It'd be ridiculous to get her that," Zenzou said as Ayame held up a lingerie set of white lace and embroidered fishnet stockings. "That's probably something only you'd wear."

"Bullshit," Ayame replied. "It's _white_. It stands for purity, maidenhood. That's perfect for Tsukki."

 _The opposite of us,_ Zenzou thought privately. "Okay, but that's based on the premise she's still a virgin."

"Details," she dismissed. "There's no way they sell this high-end stuff in Yoshiwara," she said, admiring the craftsmanship. "I wouldn't wear this if I had sleazy clients. All of the stuff I see them wearing is cheap-looking unless you count their costumes."

It's honestly astonishing how comfortable she is saying this type of stuff in public. But then again, she's no creature of shame. He's used to this when they're in private, but when they're out it's a whole different ballgame. She relishes attention, craves it wholeheartedly, while he naturally shuns it.

It sometimes makes no sense how she ended up being the number one assassin in Edo, but that's how things are.

She summons the shop assistant with a quiet lift of her eyebrows, and tells the woman that she'd like to buy this in a gift-wrapped box.

"How did you know her size?" Zenzou asked Ayame once the lady goes back into the storeroom.

"I'm pretty good at estimating," she says mysteriously, and he left it at that. He's never truly understood her when it comes to these "gifts".  


* * *

 

For such a motley crew of people who were particularly adept at ruining things, the wedding started off smoothly. The bride was beautiful and the groom had never looked more relaxed or content. Ayame had thoroughly expected her heart to break over again when she saw Tsukuyo shyly walking next to her husband down the aisle in her white shiromuku, the wedding kimono that had been custom made for such occasions.

After all, had she not wanted Gintoki for herself for so long, to the point where the de facto association was that everyone pegged her as that "weird stalker girl"? To this day she doesn't regret what she did which won't make any sense to anyone who doesn't know her.

If he makes Tsukuyo happy, then she's better off letting him go. Still, it doesn't mean she won't cry because she tried more than anybody else she knew.

She makes it through the ceremony procedure where the couple is reciting their marital oaths before she can tell she's going to cry. And then, it happens. She sees Gintoki slipping the ring onto her finger, and finally, it's that moment of utter permanence that causes her to crack. A silent tear drops down Ayame's cheek.

For a while, she's been working through all the states of grief. Now, here in the moment, she can let go of something that used entail so much of her identity.

Quietly, Zenzou passes her a tissue into her hand. Fortunately, she's not the only one crying. There's another woman in a wheelchair who is openly sobbing into a handkerchief.

After the final benediction, it's over. She breathed a sigh of relief, and looked at Zenzou.

"Thank God for waterproof mascara," she said, and in his special way, he knew what she meant.  


* * *

 

"It was a stuffy ceremony," she said later, as they were changing out of their formal clothes into their pajamas. Both of them were too exhausted to do anything but to get ready for bed.

"Reminded of my old man's funeral," Zenzou agreed. "Still, if you're into that sort of thing... "

"Ha!" Ayame laughed. "Not in a million years. You know the problem with samurai? They don't adopt like us shinobi." She turned to her vanity mirror and started to brush her hair.

He leaned down, pressing his body against hers, wrapping his arms around her. "As I recall, you certainly had a fixation on one of them."

"That was then," she said, and now she can say that with full conviction. "And this is now."  


* * *

   
The forget me nots rest in their kitchen window now.  


* * *

 


End file.
